Candlelight Child
by Glyphron
Summary: In an unfortunate dilemma, Hawke is forced to reveal the extent of her magical prowess. Though the others take it well, Fenris's reaction reminds her why she was scared to let anyone know in the first place. What she lost because of it.
1. No Other Way Out

Maker, how did they get so far into this mess? Lost within a vast network of caves, a labrynth, an infuriating maze! With spiders and unnatural beings lurking soundless within every shadow, around every turn. Watching from every corner. So completely trapped within the dark, the coming twilight dimming the sunbeams slipping through cracks in the earth above. Their final hours surely approach.

Varric carries on to Bianca in idle chatter with forced calm, clearly a facade seen by everyone's eyes. Though a dwarf, he was afraid when all lights go out. And he knew it was coming, that black would swallow them whole when night finished descending. Carver fiddles with his sword as he sits on the rocky floor of the cavern, face tight with irritation. His eyes are aimed at his sister, constantly casting his vote on who's to blame for this. He is tired and worn, and ever more grouchy than usual. Aveline paces through their midst, hand to her chin, desperately trying to get her mind to come up with something. To figure this riddle out and keep their efforts organized. Anders stands, staggered off at the groups fringes, eyes to the ground and hands frosting themselves over with ice magic. He rubs away the frost from his skin with his fingers and let's it seep over his hands again, repeating the pattern. And Fenris, he stands, arms crossed, looking to Hawke with his persistent glare that everyone has come to accept as his neutral expression. Just waiting for her to figure this out and take them back to Kirkwall.

Marianna let out a sharp and bitter laugh, absent of any glee. Of course, she *could* possibly do *something* that *could* lead them home. But her own silly feelings were getting in the way. What would they think of her after? Would they be afraid? The fact she was a mage already excluded her from all but Anders' capacity to understand her. How much worse could the other's lack of ability to comprehend would *this* make? Especially in Fenris's eyes. Would he deem her akin to an abomination, a freak? And what of Anders, would he consider her the same for having magic outside of the normal classifications? She just didn't know, her companions tended towards all sorts of unexpected things.

They didn't have long to wait before they would be swarmed by impatient shadows stalking their every step. Already they could hear the scratching of large hairy legs, scurrying across the walls of stone. Carver was aware of her talents, knew she could use them. As his stare grew more piercing by the moment, Marianna was well aware she had little to no choice in the matter. He would wait for but a moment longer before he confronted her on this, holding it back all this time with spite, surprisingly. Perhaps he understood how serious and difficult this was for her, even if he didn't seem the type.

Her chance to speak for herself, and explain came and went. Her emotions keeping her secret locked inside despite the vanity in the attempt. Carver leapt up, nearly pouncing on her, patience at a complete end.

"Why are you still dawdling! You could have fixed this long ago!"

Everyone's attention is now fixed squarely on her. His accusations seem misplaced at first, the others don't know. She wished she could point out that her magic *could* help them escape, that it was not a definite concept. But, that would only be confirming herself guilty in the eyes of the others.

"Damn your stupid pride sister! The past is the past, and you revel in it, holding back, meanwhile leaving us to suffer in the present!"

Aveline places a hand to his shoulder, but he'll not have it. Jerking free of her grip, he comes nose to nose with Marianna, stature almost threatening.

"Stop being a bloody coward and do something for once! All this time since Loathering you could have made things easier, could have eliminated so many of the threats we've faced. And you don't because a stupid boy made you afraid."

The sting of his disgust for her is made worse by revealed pieces of the past she wished never to hear of again.

"We're about to get eaten, and you still enforce such unneeded control. Won't father be so proud! Such a waste..."

That did it, that was the blow that teetered her fear over into anger, setting in motion her temper.

"How dare you!- How dare you!-"

She is beyond enraged and she can feel the soles of her feet begin to singe the dirt beneath them. Any second they will all know, they will all see.

"You know as well as I what that 'boy' did! What he took from us! How dare you throw that part of the past in my face! Father- he-"

Her flesh is beginning to take on a glow about its edges. Tears threaten to spill, but they would only evaporate into steam by this point. He wanted her over the edge, to do everything for them. Fine! It was too late now anyway. Marianna let her soul bleed out, embracing the change.

Form emblazoned, the patterns of her veins were visible just beneath her skin at her hands, feet, eyes. Surging with molten blood, her chest too bright to look upon, a furnace raging in her heart. Her short, pixie cut, hair wafted as though caught in a breeze, its length extended as it blended into flames at the ends. Her amber eyes went from leaking small firelight sparks to burning coals, the irises lost in their torrent of heat. And all other eyes watched her, wide and uncertain. Carver had pulled away, feigning superiority that he had won when, in reality, he worried he may have gone too far.

Beyond them, their predators decided to take the chance despite the threat newly presented. They came upon the group like lions upon sheep.

"You want me to fix everything, fine... But, don't you ever speak to me again!"

She hissed, the passion of rage fueling her fires. Tendrils of flame laced around her form, streaking across it and away from her and colliding with the beasts that hunted them. And in that instant, they reatreated, favoring their burns and plotting to try again once recovered. In mere seconds they were safe again, but Hawke remained dressed in her infernal light.

Carver looked away, saying nothing. She didn't want him to, and, as long as she was doing something about their situation and taking it seriously, he was happy to oblige. Aveline called to the Maker, still in a bit of awe. Varric was cautiously shifting forward, stashing Bianca away, having only fired a single shot at the monsters before they were banished back again.

"Easy there, Hawke." He soothed, attempting damage control between her and her brother.

And Fenris- he simply stared. No words, no grunts, no gestures. Just nothing but sharp eyes boring into her body. All the while, Anders pushed forward, bewildered and babbling as though he'd just seen a wonder. A miracle.

"An inferno! A bloody inferno!"

His eyes are watering from her radiance as he stares, but he refuses to turn his gaze away.

Still heated from the argument, she growls, "What of it?"

"Your kind are rare, VERY valuable to the damned Templars. What in Thedas are you doing here? Kirkwall is the most dangerous place for you to be. It is the most enforced city in the Free Marches..."

He is concerned for her, not judgemental. Not afraid, but enchanted by the sight of her embedded nature.

"Would anyone care to explain what's going on here?" Aveline retorted in the confusion.

"Hawke is *special*," he says it as though she were a gift.

'Special', she repeats within her mind. An understatement in its own right.

"She is an Elemental Child. A vast step above an elemental mage. Her control over an element is much more refined with greater potential than others. Unlike with your usual primal powered mages, they aren't simply resistant to elements, they're utterly immune to their particular element. You could cast her into a flaming pit and keep her imprisoned there as long as you'd like, no harm will come to her. As a matter of fact, you'd only be supporting her natural power."

"So they're practically indestructible..." Varric mutters.

"No," Hawke cuts in, "Everything has its weakness. Fire has always been weak to water. Making ice magic a danger to me."

"An Elemental Child's magic centers around one of the four elements in particular, and nullifies their ability to work magic of the opposing element. It is said they are the essences of nature given flesh and blood."

"Perhaps we should discuss this later," Aveline tells them, "Our 'friends' have returned."

True to her words, the various filth crawling within these caves were creeping back, still starving for their blood. Blades are drawn, both mage staves at the ready, and Bianca throws the first punch in this brawl. Their three accompanying warriors throw themselves forward with abandon, determined in taking up the challenge. And, behind them, Anders and Hawke unleash the fury of their minds, Anders with ice and stone and Marianna with greater blazes. Anders had more options available to work with, but Hawke had greater concentration of power and dominated the largest portion of the battlefield in her spreading energy. Both worked hard, seamlessly interchanging their attacks between the sword strikes of those in the front ranks. Arrows taking care of whatever remains afterward.

Aveline and Carver are focused, minds in the battle. But, Fenris is distracted by the hot ribbons and massive sparks raining down upon his targets. Hawke had always used fire magic to ward his back and aid in keeping foes at bay. But, this was different, things had changed. these were not the fireballs he was used to, and she was not the normal mage he'd been led to believe. This was not blood magic or demons, no, but was it any safer? These comets slithered through the air like fiery vipers, they moved in ways he'd never seen fire move, as though they had a will of their own. And the source of it was one inhuman mage with a dangerous temper.

'An essence of nature'. The nature of fire was to burn, simple as that. To destroy and wreak havoc when not confined. A force that was always hungry for more to feed on to keep from dying out. What of Hawke? Was that in her nature? Did she struggle for control against the desires of those racing beacons? He could imagine her turning on them, out of control, a sudden pyro maniac just wanting to watch things burn. And he trusted her even less than before to be at his back. Mages were heathens to begin with.

His distractions brought his downfall. He was carelessly knocked aside by a great cave spider, slamming the air from his lungs. In the light of the fires he feared, motes of dust sparkled until shadowed by that same arachnid looming over him. And, though his lungs were empty, he could not draw a breath, anticipating what comes next. There were no tendrils to coil around his attacker, no sparks to rain down leaving craters in its skin from impact. The deadly opponent was suddenly just consumed by a twister of heat waves and flame. It did not char the spider, or merely cook it within its own flesh, but, reduced it's entire form to ash that smudged all over Fenris's face, pelting his hair and clothes. He sucks in the breath he could not take seconds ago, thrashing into a crouch, his line of sight sweeping to her.

Marianna was coming for him, all aflame like a rage demon. The comparison bred more fear, and he scrambles to get his blade back within his grasp. This was it, he knew he should have never have trusted her this far. There was little he could do against the wildfire racing to meet him. His eyes bled all the hatred chambered within his every fiber, and he willed it all on her. But, as she approached, the lethal light flowing about her parted, arching around him. Never touching him. He freezes up before he can leap forward and make the defending cut, mystified.

Still in a crouch, she relinquishes to his level, her eyes meeting his. Her face is now empty of anger, replaced by concern instead, clear as daylight at high noon. He had assumed only fury could keep these flames lit, after all, didn't the concepts of rage and fire always go together. Seeing no obvious injuries taken to his body, she reaches her hand forth and presses it to the base of his blade. Threads of amber radiance spire around and up the blade, inscribing sigils up the center on both sides and giving it a dull gleam. He studies the effects, suspicious. Maybe she did not intend to boil his blood from his veins, but what did she think she was doing to *his* sword? As though she could hear his thoughts echoing within her own skull, she answers.

"Now you shall be able to weild the fire to aid and defend you directly."

She had enchanted it with her own vibrant energy, that did not bode well. Her intentions unknown. If it reacts to her will, she could bring him down using his own blade in a fit of upset. They'd only just met little more than mere weeks ago. And his trust did not come easy if at all. He would be ever wary of her, not knowing what to expect. And that put him at great risk.

By the time he stood, the battle was over. And, though the flames receded back, Hawke's light still did not go out. He begrudgingly sheathed his blade, wanting to drop and leave it where it lay instead. Yet, not enough to make himself powerless against any other vicious onslaughts awaiting them ahead. He looked to Marianna, who was attempting to conform to Carver's wishes, vying to free them from this madness. Glittering sparks, small, even delicate, flitted about the air.

As they pressed onward, she used them to try and 'feel' their way out. Letting them flicker and dance on ahead and down every path they came across, searching for dead ends and clear passageways. The gimmick works, and the extra sensory guidance her magic offered her lead them out of the winding caverns and back onto the sands of the Wounded Coast. The moon high overhead.

"I don't know about the rest of you," Varric perks up, still at Hawke's side. He'd been there since the end of their last conflict. Comforted by the brightness she eminates, pushing back the darkness. "But I could really use a drink."

Marianna's blazing glory finally fades off, leaving a perfectly human looking figure behind, no signs of the magic to be seen.

"Agreed." She sighs.

"And a better explanation." Aveline regards the two mages as she speaks.

With that, everyone heads for the tavern.


	2. Cast In Flames

"So, you're an Inferno! I wonder, does it hurt when your body takes on the attributes of fire? Do you get cold easy, or are you warm all the time? Oh, can you spit fire like a dragon?!" Merril babbles away in her assault of questions with child like excitement.

When the wayward group had entered through the tattered door to The Hanged man, they had found both Merril and Isabela at one of the tables, drinking themselves into a stupor. Merril, of course, was only following Isabela's lead. Little did she know what awaited her the following morning when all was said and done. Hawke doubted she drank often, if at all. And, certainly, never quite the amount that had been consumed this very evening. Poor Merril.

Of course, the weary expressions on all their faces, mixed with so many other emotions indecisively trying to muster into one or another, had beckoned to Isabela's curiousity. And she followed them up to Varric's suite, Merril at her heels to complete Hawke's collection of mismatch friends. After sitting down, and a few sips of his own drink, Varric had regaled them with the whole ridiculous tale about how they foolishly lost direction, getting stranded in a network of grimy holes beneath the ground. As though everyone needed to be reminded of the embarrassment. Particularly her, since she was technically in the lead at the time. Then cutting to the epic and exaggerated recount of her melting enemies as they barely escaped in time. That part was quite a tender topic too.

Marianna stares at the Dale for a moment before answering, "No, not anymore..."

Lost in thoughts, memories, she continues without much interest in the subject.

"Warm is relative... Complicated. And, I suppose, if I wanted to, I could."

Setting down his cards, Varric looks to Hawke with a suddenly serious face.

"What do you mean, 'not any more'?"

Fenris glares over his shoulder. Allowing himself to be dragged into this conversation only because it is Varric's move and the dwarf is too distracted to make it. Otherwise, he didn't care to hear anything more on the subject of mages. Least of all her, at this very time.

"It's... hard to explain."

"Try."

Isabela sets down her drink and looks to the both of them. She may be getting more than she bargained for. Sadness is no fun, yet she found herself wanting to know.

Carver takes a deep swig of his own drink, dropping his cards down like the others and sighs.

"And here we go..." He rolls his eyes.

Aveline gives the young man a stern look, "This is probably something we should know about."

Responding with a sigh, Hawke puts forth her best effort. Simply grateful *they* were not vindictive with fear towards her.

"Every mage is naturally drawn to, and capable, in a certain school of magic, sometimes more. Either way, they find natural talent in some form or another. A mage can train in any magic and manage, but it holds less potential than the ones they are drawn to. However, when it comes to elemental magic, there can be extreme cases."

Never looking their way, just into his cup, Anders adds to this.

"They call them Elemental Children because this is determined when they are very young."

With a bright smile, Merril decides to help with explanations too.

"There are four kinds of Elemental Children. The Inferno, like Hawke, the Monolith, the Tempest, and the Glaciers. An Inferno is specialized in fire, Monoliths in stone, Tempests in wind and lightening, and Glaciers in ice."

She carries on as though this were not already an obvious fact.

"What sets mages like myself apart from the rest, is that they go beyond skill. They don't just wield the element, they take on its attributes, become one with the element. For example, as you have seen, when I use the magic, my body produces light. I burn things I touch as though I am fire itself."

There is a pause, Hawke's eyes close for a moment. Then she looks up, raising her hand which glows, the aura restricted only to her palm and fingers. She parts them, and ember threads stitch between them.

"I am not just lighting fires with magic, I'm using them as an extension of my being. I can control it's every move."

She drops her hand away.

"How do you discover such things? Do you just set yourself on fire one day or something?" Varric persists, his original question still unanswered.

"If only it were that easy," Anders says softly with solemnity, "There is a reason they're rare. The process of becoming one is excruciating. You've never had to listen to an Elemental Child scream bloody murder."

Carver takes another shot of his drink, "You have no idea..."

"That's just it," Hawke begins before he can continue, "Only a handful of mage children can develop this form of magic, and most don't- either the child can conform, adapt to the magic... Become one with it. Or they die from the stress of bearing the element full force as it consumes them."

All eyes are on her, expressions disconcerting. Even Merill's drunken contentment was misplaced.

"For me," she nearly whispers, eyes to the floor, "I had to get past the sensation of burning alive. No harm was being done to me, but I felt... I was dying... I wanted to. Anything to make it stop."

There is silence, all feeling the weight of this heavy talk.

Finally, Aveline braves the oppressing silence, "Hawke?..."

Her voice is woried.

"Once my body adapted, the pain simply ceased. Transitioning became easy, even... comforting. Fire feels like... The embrace of my Mother. Just, warm and safe."

She didn't know why she was admitting this, she suspected it was because the confession had always been there, pushing to the surface. Just waiting to get out, be expressed. Just once.

"And vicious, no doubt. And you wonder why they call magic a curse." Fenris grumbles, heavily dissatisfied with the events of the day.

"Fenris," Aveline chides him, "She did save our skins."

"She's 'one with fire', what do you think that means? Fire burns, Aveline. It hurts things. A mage can burn a whole village to dust in a bout of tantrums, what do you think a mage like her can do? How much more damage do you think she could cause?"

"I have yet to hurt anyone who wasn't out to kill us," Marianna interjected, "I'm not going to burn Kirkwall to cinders."

"You say that now, but you are as fire, so you say. If that is your nature, then you are dangerous. Fire seeks to destroy everything it touches."

"You say that as though the magic has a will of its own. It doesn't. It's will is only mine. And I have no desire to scorch everything I see."

"I didn't ask for you to bewitch my sword with your filthy magic!" He finally snaps.

Yet another argument capable of spurring lingering resentments. Hawke and Carver had yet to make amends, still. It was unknown if they ever would, their sibling rivalry was of epic proportions. It didn't need to spread like a plague between everyone else, but seemed to threaten it would do so.

"I was just trying to help!" She raises to her feet. But, this time, there is no heat to accompany her displeasure. Only Carver knew the line that should never be crossed, and only he could cross it.

"Honestly, I'm not surprised by this. When has he ever been grateful for anything we do? No matter how many times we come to his rescue." Anders scoffs in her defense.

Merill might have said something too, if not for the fact her choices were catching up to her. She gripped her stomach, groaning instead.

Fenris turned to glare holes into his skin.

Varric breaks in, trying to alleviate yet more conflict within their ranks. Trying to uphold the fragile peace.

"Calm down you three. I think we are only tired and cranky from a day spent walking in circles. There's no need to be at each other's throats. We are back home, safe and sound. That's all that matters."

Fenris jerks away, storming off through the doorway, out of The Hanged Man. He didn't need anymore ignorance to the threat they'd all consigned themselves to. Why was no one else vexed to discover she was hiding this? She had to have kept it secret for a reason. Something about a 'boy', if he recalled from earlier. Just what had she done to that boy?

Marianna had only paused long enough for him to get down the street before, she too, marched out, turning towards home. She didn't need more judgement, more reasons to regret the fact she failed to hide her unique power. She didn't need the memories, or the pain that was settling into her chest. She wondered, for a brief moment, why she had ever allowed Fenris to join them. Why he had ever asked to.

A short lived memory flashes before her eyes. A few moments of civil conversation, and smiles breaking through that stern mask. She had noticed it then. So much hurt behind the glass of his green irises, so much sorrow. The image twisted her heart, adding even more pressure. And though the irritation of his outburst did not slip from her, the potent frustration she's felt like caving under all day did vanish. All grudges towards him died, leaving only ghosts of stinging words that he'd said. That was why. She couldn't find the heart to hold it against him.

He was the most injured creature she'd ever met, and her need to tend to the wounded softened her to him. No matter how harsh he became towards her. The hurt often lash out in fear. Perhaps, in time, he would allow her to at least staunch the flow of blood from his pains. Perhaps not. He may never trust her. But she couldn't keep from trying. *That* was her nature.


	3. Taken Assunder

Fenris scowled the whole way, ready to shut himself within his borrowed mansion and not come back out. Perhaps, when she next came calling for him, a new goal to accomplish, he would ignore the call to arms. And leave her to chase her own horizons alone. Why did he even offer to repay an invisible debt anyway? He was not a beast of her making, obedient to her commands. He was NO slave.

No sooner had he thought this, letting it scream and focus at the front of his mind, than a mass of silhouettes blockaded his path. He glanced up to find a battalion of slavers, all riled up for the hunt. On instinct he reached for his blade, pulling it from its hold at his back with a sharp metallic note to sing it's battle cry. He nearly started, taking the edge from his focus. Beneath his palms the metal thrummed and heated, but did not burn. It almost pulsed with the rhythm of a heartbeat, sigils aglow. There was a buzz about the air, as though a storm was about to break.

At his focus turning, the ambush began, slavers pouncing on this victim with eagerness. The instant they were upon him, knocking against his form in desperate attempts to pin him down, the blade let off a strong pulse and flames twisted around him in a vortex. They did not lick his flesh, but ran across the skin of his attackers, halting their assault, freeing him from their grasp. Another sword came slicing the air and smoke left by the torrent, and he lifted his into a block. As the metals met, the contact burst forth sparks that drifted into the face of the opposing duelist. As the swordsman's guard dropped, Fenris slashed his blade across the chest plate before him. The heat at his blade's edge cut through it like it was searing through cloth, moving through skin and burning the man beneath.

The enhancements beat back the forces rising to overpower him again and again. Keeping him safe from a fate he was familiar with all too well. He almost came to feel comfort in the swelling energy emanating into his hands, the knowledge of what he was now capable of. Catching himself appreciating the dawn colored light of the symbols scribed into his weapon, he frowned and shook the thoughts away. It was still magic, still not to be trusted. Although he had no other choice at the current turn of events, he thought maybe he would sell it for a pretty silver and right the intrusion with a new, trustworthy, greatsword when this was over.

It was just another mistake in battle, his mind far too concerned with magic. Letting his fears get in the way, a recent habit he's developed. With a harsh bash to the back of his skull, the realization finally sunk in, the lesson finally learned. The enchantment did react to the blow, but, it was to late. The whole world simply stopped as he fell, his mind suddenly so blank, all lights suddenly much brighter. But the shadows behind his eyes much darker. The only though to ring was the certainty he would never get a chance to correct his imperfection again. It was over, his adventure done. Like a candle, his awareness flickered out.

Waking in a tiny slave cage, shackles to his ankles, collar at his neck, confirmed his dread. So worried was he about *her* magic, he had allowed himself to fall. Finally, he accepted the blame. And understood with shaking breath, he may be wrong, as he tried not to cry. Weeping was foolish, it could do nothing for him. But a man so broken as he had nothing to lose from it, no dignity to crush. The weight of his burden far too much to bear. Dank dirt filled his lungs, sorrow stung his eyes, and rough cobblestone scraped his clothes and flesh where he lay.

It was now that he admitted he'd rather face having a mage ally than this. Even if he couldn't be certain of her intent, of what kind of soul rested inside those bones. He... He would do near anything to be rescued by her interventions again. But, she would not, he knew. He had pushed her too hard too far, disrespected all that she claimed to stand for, condemned her like he did all the rest. Despite not even knowing her well enough to to actually know anything of her. There was no incentive to come to *his* aid. He let his convictions chastise him, wallowing in his bitter misery with his inner demons.

What did it matter how long he stayed curled pathetically on on the floor of his cell? Even if the slavers didn't know what they've caught, weren't hunting him specifically. It was only a matter of time before Danarius had his hands tightly wringing about his neck again, choking life and spirit from him with great pleasure. He could phase through solid living tissues, even armor to get to a beating life source. Not thick iron bars and cold tourniquet shackles. Thus, he did not bother to stir when footfalls came pounding up to the door of his prison. He was defeated, nothing would change that now.


	4. A House Divided

Morning light filtered through the brown crusted windows, corrupting the fluttering light with dirt. Carver had returned some time after Marianna last night, but still they did not speak or acknowledge each other. Mother took notice of their internal squabbles as they tried not to even look at the other. Demanding what had happened between them, neither would offer an answer. And so she had used her authority over her children to confine them to the back room until they worked out their differences. Even Carver didn't dare challenge the punishment given, despite feeling as though she cared little for her son. Marianna was always the favorite, he was convinced of this.

They sat on crates in silence for hours, still not meeting eyes. Quietly, Marianna flexed her fingers to and from her palms, her hands were hardly ever still. As she did so, she debated a visit to Fenris's door when this imprisonment finally ended. She thought she may be able to reason with him, explain herself a little better. Maybe alleviate the tension between them. She'd even offer to lift the energy from his weapon. She wanted to undo what had spiraled him into a frenzied panic over her existence. She understood she could not take the revelation back, but if he would listen...

"Alright, fine... If it means getting us out of here, I'll say it. I'm sorry." Carver groaned.

Marianna wanted to be free to go about her day as badly as he did, but her pride wouldn't accept the empty gesture. He had gone much too far past the line she toed. So she merely shot an uninterested glance his way.

"Come on sister, just accept the apology so we can get out of here. Then you can continue avoiding me. You can even continue to hate me."

"I don't hate you," she barks, "But, you! You-"

The clouds within her heart break, and their rain streak her cheeks. She's been strong for far too long. It all comes out in desperate sounds so incredibly loud and ugly to her own ears. But her sobs will not quiet, they *will* be heard. And, for the first time since Loathering fell to pieces, Carver watched her fall into her knees with the agony of his cruelty, reflecting it in his own eyes. His expression softened. Just for this moment, maybe they didn't need to be competitors. They were still family after all, and there had been a time once, long ago, when they'd been close.

He sighs, reluctant but sincere, "I shouldn't have brought up Father. Or *him*. But, I stand by the notion that you can't keep hiding like this. Father trained you to use your gifts. Not lock them away because of an accident. You were only serving the best in you, as he would put it."

Breathing erratic, her neck twists to turn her face to him, her amber eyes bloodshot from the tears. She searches his for the truth and finds it residing in his words as well. Taking a moment more to bring herself back under control, she wipes the tears away and lets her eyes dry a little before giving him an answer.

"Very well," she speaks barely above a whisper, "I accept."

Carver stands up eagerly, but lingers, focus still on her for a few more heartbeats. Each longing for better times lost in the past, though he always talks of looking to the future. He knows what's done is done, it cannot be reversed. But, sometimes, he does look to the past anyway. He would never admit to missing anything.

He leaves her then. Let's her collect herself and return to the busy world when she is ready. She can sort herself back together without him, she's strong. It doesn't keep the thoughts of her being so tender in that encounter from plaguing his mind though. There was guilt in knowing he'd caused her to break, even if not permanently.

With another deep intake of air, Marianna straightens herself, stands and walks out the door. Thinking better of talking to Fenris. 'Not today', she tells herself. She wasn't ready, he probably wasn't either. She should let him find calm and peace again before attempting to shuffle through their differences. There was no need to smother him, he shouldn't be forced into coming to terms with her. He'd only reject that. But, one way or another still, she would get through to him she was no enemy. She was *different*. Different from normal humans, different from other mages, different from *Danarius*.

She was caught by surprise when Varric ran into her, in a great rush. Dazed a bit, he lifted his golden eyes to her, their whites flooding around the coins of color.

"Hawke! Thank the Maker I've found you!"

"What is it?" She frowns, helping him up and checking him for scrapes.

"Broody is in a world of trouble! He was ambushed last night on his return to Hightown. My sources tell me he fought the majority of them off, but they still got him in the end."

He explains all at once, nearly blurting the words too hastily to interpret as they met her ears.

"Where is he?" She tries to swallow her anxiety, "Do you know where they have taken him?"

The notion they were slavers was left unsaid, it needed no utterance, the culprit was clear the moment Varric had said *they* got him. Regardless of how they felt towards each other, despite the mistrust and vehemence, she would never let Danarius take him back to Tevinter. They could part ways if he wanted, he could despise her all he liked. It didn't change how she felt. Slavery was evil, and he was so badly hurt by that life. All energy inside her screamed she could not allow it to take him again. A strong sense of right from wrong, not attachment. A need to protect an innocent life from such a terrible cruelty.

"Come on," he grabs her arm, "I'll point the way."

They made haste through the streets, running for the stairs leading to Darktown. **********

Winding their way through throngs of Darktown denizens, they came to an abandoned mine shaft, the entrance in shambles. Rotted wood scattered before their feet and deceiving depths ahead of them. Varric looks it up and down, satisfied that it meets the standards of what he was told.

"This is the place." He confirms.

Hawke gives a hefty sigh, "More tunnels."

He laughs, "I know exactly how you feel."

"Well, we will just have to brave them anayway."

"Maybe we should have brought Junior, or Aveline." He states raising Bianca and looking to her staff.

"This time, I won't hold back, we'll manage." She assures him.

There isn't enough time to return and regroup with more allies. Too much time has passed already. By the time they'd make it here again, he'd be smuggled onto a ship sailing towards Imperial land for certain. If he isn't on his way there now. No, the two of them will just have to do, but they'd best be cautious. Neither had the armor to take multiple hits before they'd fall to ruin. It was now or never.

She takes to the lead, stepping up and over the remains of fallen beams, carefully picking her way through the rubble. The scent of dank dirt hit her senses hard making her throat feel thick and sticky. But, just ahead, torchlight danced across the muddy walls, offering promise. She hoped for the best and would brace for the worst. But, she knew it would do no good. If they were too late she'd take it hard and it would be another pain in her heart she faced every day when she awoke. So, she just held tighter to her hopes. Advancing quickly through the passage, the bracket became visible and they passed the first torch unnoticed. How long would that last? Someone must be here.

But the long stretch of an entrance was vast, and they had made a good distance before it opened up into a chamber with guards to keep safe the rest of the base. Huddled around a quaint fire pit, they gambled away their pay to each other, ever greedy for more coin. It presented perfect opportunity. 'No holding back', she reminded herself, extending out her palm and flaring into life her magic. The small flames burst forth, belching a massive cloud of red like a miniature volcano. The slavers caught with it, their dried, leather, under armor garments like tinder. Screaming, running all about, they fell silent and burning still in due time. Varric had put as many out of their misery as he could manage in their scramble of panic.

The cries of the fallen had echoed their way through the entire shaft, no doubt alerting the whole operation of their presence. The time for subtlety was long gone. Marianna lit herself up in all her glory, surrounding herself by flames to provide some means of protection against whatever onslaught awaited. She stepped forward with confidence, pace brisk. The clank of armored individuals rattled on ahead, allies responding to the disturbance. The colors of autumn in light, a mighty wave blasted forth down the way, roasting the next contenders before their shadows came into view. A long, twisting, tunnel beneath their feet, and their adversaries around the bend. Now charred corpses, both scuttle around them and continue deeper into the mine.

Again it opens up into a dug out cavern a ways ahead, multiple archways branching from it, each leading to other pockets of open space. Forces have gathered to meet the threat walking through their territory, making their stand here. Hawke allows Varric to settle back and take his shots at the greatest distance possible, rushing forward to take up the challenge of holding them off. Banners, not delicate ribbons, prance and twirl through the air this time. They crash into the rushing opponents, knocking them from their feet as each meets the chosen mark. All catch ablaze, few clamber back up. Among them are alchemists as they call themselves, mages who work in stride with slavers. They resist the waves of roiling heat cast their way, turning to ice magic in their defense. This is where the real danger comes for Hawke.

She defaults to other schools of elemental magic, not nearly as potent and overbearing as her flames. Lightning arches forward, spreading among the peers and rattling them with the jolt. It keeps their spells from being cast, breaking all concentration and silencing a few. Those who survive recover quickly, slipping ice in bands across the floor, spikes blooming from them as they slide her way. Dashing aside, sharp points grazing her leg, she calls up stones to create a massive fist and brings it crashing down atop their heads. Some stumble away, but most fall beneath it's crushing might. One foe catches her in a wave of force magic that drags her high up into the air, intending to turn the wave back down into a bone shattering slam to the ground. She reheats the furnace in her body, building a mass of flames about her. And, as she comes falling down, streaks like a star plummeting to earth. Releasing energy in an explosive wave as the cavern floor draws near.

Her gamble pays off, the force of the blast breaks her fall, softening the impact. A touch jarred but still whole, she raises from the crater to find the remaining mages toppling down, riddled with arrows. A deep sigh of relief eminates from her lungs, the dust stirred up into the air still settling. The fight is over, the way clear for now. Others may come, but, for the moment, silence sings. No one else comes racing to meet them.

Time to find what they came for.


	5. Caged By Regret

Fenris did not bother to move, to resist or flinch from the path of the strikes laid upon him. Even as his own blood seeped to strike across his vision in the dim light. This treatment was lenient as opposed to what he had suffered before. It was still unclear if these men knew the value of what they held in their grasp, but he did not care. His defiance utterly misplaced in the depths of conditioned responses. But this bastard was not his master, he would not grovel. Because it would do no good. So he took the beatings soundly, retreating deeper within himself. So far in the depths of his internal refuge the pain dulled to aches and stinging, easier than it should be to ignore.

His eyes clouded with memories. At first they were drawn to the few interactions he'd shared with potential friends here in Kirkwall. They seemed like a paradise from which he had fallen by now in contrast. It was true what they said. You do not know just what you have until it is gone, and it was. It was so far gone. He pushed those away, he did not want to think of what is lost, how insufferable he made himself so that no one would miss him. So he reflected on all the time he had been running. It wasn't nearly as pleasant a concept, but it was a simple one. He ran and his Master chased, but, until now he had always been just out of reach. Too fast for the Magister to grab hold of again. So fortunate. Just a simple action repeating in his mind. Running and running and running... For miles and years. All falling behind his feet, all left behind.

His focus attuned itself to the outside world, a commotion pulling him out of it. But not far. The thrashing had stopped, his abuser leaving. He could not possibly imagine why, did not care to. He settled down within himself again, grateful to be alone once more. Yet, strange sounds echoed down the way, he thought he could smell smoke and burning flesh, something was not right. He tried his best to ignore it, intuition is a powerful thing. But it was an illusion none the less. An illusion that ended up startling him, nearly out of his skin.

"Maker! What do you suppose they did to him?"

He had shut out everything, moments had passed. Things had gone quiet again and he had assumed whatever had caused the disturbance was dealt with. Things would proceed as they were. But, now...

He tried to steady his erratic pulse, catch his breath from the scare. He turned his head so his eyes could peer past his shoulder, his back to the cage gate. Varric stared back through the bars, a blazing figure at his side. Marianna...

"Are you alright there, Broody?" The dwarf asked in concern as he lifted a lock pick from his pocket.

Fenris sat up, his irises flashing to Hawke's face. It was pinched tight in fury, her teeth clenched, her line of sight fixed on him. He dropped his to the shackles at his legs, trying hard not to feel the pressure of her stare. She must still be bitter with him.

"I'll be fine," he grunted without conviction.

Varric struggled with the lock, and Marianna gestured him away. She hugged herself to the bars, her rapturous glow turning white. Fenris shrank back, his eyes burning, the heat nearly suffocating, intense. In moments, the metal melted away from her, pooling at her feet in a hissing protest. Leaving a gaping hole to escape through from his prison. If only he were not chained to the wall. But, if she moved any closer as she was, he was sure his flesh would be joining the mess oozing across the ground. Fortunately, she stepped back, cooling her aura to a golden light.

"Right, I've got the cuffs," Varric took the cue.

Hawke turned her eyes to the exit, keeping watch, her expression unchanging. Meanwhile, the rogue worked intent on removing the shackles, so that his feet were not bound to one another. He slipped twice on the left one, cursing heavily, but soon he was tossing them aside. Finally, he was picking away at the collar that kept the elf trapped to the wall. Fenris tried not to tug at the chain in his eagerness to be free of it, silently urging Varric on with his thoughts. A blessed click serenaded his senses, undoing it's power over him. He ripped the terrible band away as it came loose, overwhelmed in the sudden comfort it's absence brought. The relief was short lived.

As Varric was stashing his pick, Hawke sauntered his way, and Fenris automatically avoided her gaze. Looking to the walls, the floor, anything that would not make him face her displeasure straight on. He breathed a heavy sigh, wondering if there was even a chance at making amends, or if they were fated to begrudge each other for ever. She closed in on him, her eyes sharp, and his frown grew deeper. The aura fell away from her leaving her human state as it always had been without it, pristine. Her fingers brushed against the border of a gash, her infuriated irises locked upon it, and he looked up and watched her. Taken by surprise. It became oddly clear that all her frustration was not directed toward him per say, but the marks slashed upon him.

Her thin body took on a new light, blue and without heat. Whispers deafened his ears as the fade leaked meaningless secrets into the air of the real world. It danced, pranced, in ringlets about her. With a raise of her bronze staff, he was taken up in the same swirling of color. The blood that trickled from his cuts ceased flowing, the edges to them came fusing back together, aches and pains died, and he was left restored as though untouched. Save for the grime that covered him. He was not alone in his redemption. The sore at her own leg from the ice spikes mended, and even Varric was caught in the same halo of hues. Although bearing no obvious injuries, the dwarf seemed to perk up.

He had been witness to Anders' talents for healing, but it did not meet up to her amassed skill which went beyond average creative magic. Marianna was a spirit healer, capable of tending to a full compliment of allies at once. He had to admit her abilities were impressive, even if he was still opposed to magic. Though, from now on, he intended to be a bit more tolerant. Despite all his insults, they'd come for him. They freed him from his hell, bound his hurts, and were here to lead him back to safety. There was no room for complaint.

Off in the distance, boots were scuffing through the entrance to the mine, the sounds carried on the air as they bounced off the walls. With a step away, Hawke had, once more, flared her internal forge back to life. Varric swung Bianca back into his arms, primed and ready in one fluid motion. They prepared for war, listening as the approaching steps hastened, the contact with the ground in each step more harsh. Fenris looked about the cavern for his sword, their coming company would soon be upon them. If there was a chance they'd brought it here, that he could find it before they arrived, he was confident he could hold them off. His eyes searched to find nothing, and he shuddered at his vulnerability. The slavers were filtering through into the cavern before he caught sight of it at last. This was because it rested in the hands of an enemy, their Captain no doubt. Fenris swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat, knowing the danger they faced with the bade's power being wielded against them. This would not be an easy escape.

Marianna engaged that particular foe in combat, the boon she'd given the sword would be useless while facing her. Careful of his swings, she taunted him in an effort to unbalance him with a lunge. It did not work so well. She twirled from its path in the nick of time, but this slaver was a step above the rest. Unlike the others who were mostly untrained thugs given weapons and armor and a simple job of apprehending the unsuspecting, he was skilled. His moves were well practiced, signs of having apprenticeship in the past. He swung round on her at the end of his baited move, catching her at her back. She was no warrior, she had little skill in judging the path of a blade. Painful, she hollered out, but kept moving. The slice more superficial than deadly.

"Just hang in there, Hawke!" Varric called to her, busied with keeping as many of the others off her as he could manage.

There was no reprieve by which to heal herself, and liquid fire bled from it, as her blood reflected the infernal glory of her skin. It took seconds to switch and cast spells, but even that was too long. She ducked beneath a sweep that would have taken the head from her shoulders, twisting molten banners his way in response. He tucked and rolled away, springing at her from where he halted before she could call them back for the chase, sword poised to bear down on her and split her in two. A wall of flame leapt to her defense as the metallic edge cropped a small, flowing, lock of hair from her head. Missing the rest of her only by being driven back in the sudden wave. Both Fenris and Varric released the breath they didn't realize they had locked inside their lungs.

The swordsman, still blinded and now burned, wasted no time in reaching his feet. Retreating to recover behind accompanying forces who'd been lingering out of the way until now. They were not so difficult to handle as their Captain was, and Marianna bought herself time to seal the red line across the small of her back. Not long after, the Captain stepped forward, taking control from what remained of his men. Burns mostly faded, it was clear he had downed a healing potion. The mage and the fighter were on equal terms again, and they met each other on the battlefield in full force once more.

A swift blow aimed for her lung, a counter with fire balls that homed in on him, crashing into the ground as he narrowly missed them. The struggle raged on, and though it was only they who remained to fight, the others shot down by Bianca, there was nothing either of her companions could do to offer her aid. Varric could not risk striking her with an arrow as they dashed about in combat, and Fenris would only be scorched by the blade's defenses should he approach to offer support. So they watched, nerves painfully knotting as close call after close call was presented to their eyes. And what determined the outcome was simple and inescapable.

Mana was not akin to stamina. It was the energy of the soul, the body, and the mind. Unlike stamina, the amount expended could be adjusted, controlled so that the potential of it would not go to waste. Hawke still had plenty, and what was lost would easily be regained by rest and nourishment. But, it was still not the same as stamina, and that's where she was at a disadvantage. She could not keep up, keep running and leaping, and she began to falter. Her mage body was fit, but more frail than a rogue or a warrior and physically did not add up. He was far too close, she was not casting spells on him from a distance as she was better suited for. And so she fell, tripping in her physical exhaustion.

The slaver seized the opportunity, bearing down like a bear on a hapless victim. She rolled face up in time to unleash a flurry of potent fire on his body, but not in time to stop the sword's tip from biting into her. It speared her through the stomach, while her opponent was sent thrashing about as he tried to escape the grasp of the blaze ahold of him. Varric silenced his screaming with a bolt to the eye. He then rushed to Marianna's side, leaving Fenris in his wake who stood bound to that spot, eyes wide. A shiver found its way down his spine and spurred him to join the dwarf.


	6. The Graves Where Memories Lay

Blood painted the sword where it met her body, the brush strokes bold and sickening. From the corner of her mouth, the same red trailed to dye her soft golden hair. Her eyes stared on, aware but blank. She did not cry, did not struggle, did not gasp for air. Just laid still as though she'd just woken from quiet slumber. Her body's heat, which had always seemed too warm whenever she drew too near in their endeavors and Fenris could just feel it blossoming across his own flesh, was colder. Like the coals that stoked within her were burning out. She was dying for the sake of his freedom. If not for her, he'd still be secured inside the cage, and this would not have happened. She had risked her life for *him* and his plight, showing her mettle. Never had he known or heard of any mage to be so selfless let alone noble and ideal to his sense of virtues. Now he had discovered one, too late to pay her the due respect she deserved.

Varric stripped his jacket from his shoulders and pressed it to the puncture, careful of the weapon's sharp edge. Thinking quickly, Fenris jumped up and stalked over to the Captain's corpse, its flesh still searing as his insides continued to burn like cinders. The flames had all but died out, and he ignored the ugly sight, carefully rummaging through the ashen remains of his pouches, searching for any healing potions he may have still had if they survived. He felt the neck of a small jar, and pulled it up to examine the vial. It had cracked and shattered in the heat, it's contents long since lost. He abandoned the idea and returned to her side.

"Blondie manages a clinic nearby," Varric spoke softly, "The Lit Lantern. One of us could go and fetch him, he could patch her up."

Did they have enough time? Would either of them even make it through the tunnels before her life finished ebbing away? And what if more slavers returned? There was no telling how big this operation truly was, how many members were apart of it. He looked to the beads of sweat glossing her face, too uncertain of the future. Varric did not await his reply.

"Take my place," he commanded more loudly, "I can reach the clinic faster, I've been there before. I'll get Blondie and be back before you know it. Hold on, Hawke!"

He was rushing back the way they'd came before he even finished speaking, his last sentence echoing down the earthen halls. Fenris pressed his palms to the coat, hoping it would indeed slow the loss of blood. He did not notice her eyes light up at the sound of her name repeating against each cavern wall, as it snapped her out of her daze.

Such an injury as hers presented a slow death. An exploit for a healer, so long as they can focus through the pain. She could, not much, but enough concentration was there to procure more time for herself at the least. She didn't have much time to act, deep wounds sap energy, mana away. Even if the awareness was there, concentrated, if she did not cast the spell quickly enough, there'd not be a chance.

She reaches forth, resting her hand upon his. He nearly jumps and looks to her face, her eyes meeting him.

"Remove the sword..." She rasps weakly.

Fenris shakes his head, "Anders is on his way."

She could not let more time slip by through any explanation. This needed to happen now if she were to last long enough to see Anders again.

"Do it," Marianna insisted, "I know what I'm doing."

He frowns in deep set hesitation, but he does not want her to die from this. He stands, carefully easing his own weapon from her flesh and wincing as blood fountains forth, unhindered by the object. It was now, the moment was now. The same ghostly blue consumes her, restricted only to her body this time. Whispers drift through the still air, and the blood stops pooling, the wound's perameters shrink away beneath the glow, nearly halving it's size. The light breaks, she has pushed her spell as far as it could carry. She turns her face to look up at him, and he crouches down, her gaze following.

"Thank you." She smiles, strength returning to her voice.

"Will you be alright?" He asks her, unintentionally showing some concern.

"As long as Anders doesn't take half the day to get here," she sighs, "I'll be fine."

He sits beside her, hands still applying pressure just in case, silence weighing down on them for a moment. Reflecting on considerations from before, she decided that *now* was the best time. They were stranded here together, left to wait until help arrived. And the silence felt uncomfortable.

"Last night..." She trails off a moment. "I know you despise magic. Were you angry angry because Carver claimed I was hiding my abilities?"

"There has to be a reason..." His voice is low, reminiscent of his disdain.

"The... *boy*," she begins, pain swelling in her tone.

He assumes it is the wound.

"Don't speak, save your strength until the 'abomination' arrives."

He cannot detain his bitterness, it seeps out whenever he thinks on magic and it's abuses.

She continues anyway, "He was a boy I loved. I was young, of course. Isn't that always the prerequisite for these kinds of stories."

She flashes a sad smile to nothing and no one in particular. He does not answer her inquiry.

"He did not know what I was. Mages have been shunned a long time, to keep my family safe, it was imperative I keep it secret. One evening, as we walked together, we ran afoul of some bandits. They demanded all that we carried, and... A hostage. Me..."

Fenris locks his eyes to her, suddenly attentive.

"I knew what they had planned for me, I thought about defending myself. But, always, there was my family to think of. So I gave in. It was such a glorious feeling, *that* instant, when he defiantly denied them my capture. I truly believed he was a noble boy, capable of sharing a future with me. But, then the bandits tried to take his life, and my hand was forced. I protected him with my magic, and slew the thugs threatening us."

Her expression turns dark, far more pained, catching his breath into a shudder.

"Those lovely eyes turned cold, he was terrified of me. My heart was crushed. I couldn't blame him, I'm an apostate, I'm not worth much as a wife or lover. So, I simply let him go..."

The last sentence is a breathy whisper.

"He ran away in fear, and I did not give chase. I did not even try to convince him of anything, or negotiate. I just turned, and went home, pushing him from my mind. Life would go on... I would miss him, but the both of us were alive, safe. That was enough. Only it wasn't."

She closes her eyes, as if she were trying not to watch a horrific event.

"His family was informed of what happened, he told them what I had done. They were nobility, proud, and regarded their reputation with utmost importance. They could not be bothered to alert the Templars and reveal their son had been chasing a witch. They took my punishment for existing into their own hands."

The bitterness that accompanies her words matches his in full measure.

"They moved away, to another town, to ensure their deed could not be traced to them and sent thugs to erase their son's mistake. And my Father..." She breathes deep, tears spilling.

"Maker, I loved him so much! He taught me everything I know, trained me to heal even the worst of ailments. He would always take me, Bethany, and Carver to the front of the crowds during parades when the festivals came. We'd take turns sitting on his shoulders. And on particular nights, when we would beg not to be sent to bed, he'd laugh and take us outside. Where he would have us lay out in the grass, and he would tell us the story of each constellation until our eyes could not stay open. And we would wake in that grass, curled against him and covered in a blanket Mother would bring from the house, to watch the sunrise with him."

She smiles bright, even through her weeping.

"He was the best Father. 'My magic shall serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base', he would say. He told me and Bethany that every day. And, no matter how many times we heard it, we would repeat it with him, hanging on his every word. We always aspired to be just like him."

The tale stops abruptly, the silence ringing strange in contrast. It lingers and Fenris wonders what it is he's missed.

"He died the night they came for me..."

Her voice cuts through that silence just as he begins to adjust.

His eyes move to the furthest wall away, lost there. He says nothing. What could he say? What could he offer her? Consoling words that would seem fake falling from his judgemental lips.

"That's why I hide it," she murmurs, "Because, it hurts to be reminded every time I use the magic. Because, I am afraid... Afraid to lose anyone else for being as I am."

No sooner had she finished when steps rang down the tunnels. Fenris moves a hand to the hilt of his sword, resting beside him. Prepared to etch out their freedom in blood if he must. But Varric's call rings moments after.

"We're coming!"

They come dashing up, sliding to a halt beside her. Anders drops to his knees, catching sight of the blood soaked cloth and the missing sword.

"You removed the blade before I could reach you?!" He exclaims incredulously.

"She told me too," Fenris growls in his defense.

"I did." Marianna confirms, sounding distant, tired.

The last of her energy has faded away, and her body cries for her to rest, sleep. Anders pushes aside the coat to see how far her own magic has brought the process. He begins working his healing over the punture, soothing away the rest of the pain. And, before long, she gives into the dreams that press against her skull, vying to fill her mind.


	7. Snakes Among Men

"Let me see your sword." She repeats, voice patient, promising.

Fenris shakes his head, shooting her a glare, "What for?"

"So I can undo the spell over it."

He remains still as stone, eyes staring defiantly her way.

"It bothers you. I'll remove it for you." Marianna assures him.

"It's already tainted," he says, lacking his usual venom, "Taking your magic back won't erase the stain left by it in the first place."

He won't offer up his blade, making excuses why it wouldn't matter. She peers at him curiously, confused.

"Alright... But, at least, it won't set things aflame... Isn't that preferable?"

"Preferable would have been for you to have never touched it in the first place." He drones.

He would never admit to the magic's usefulness, or how he would rather keep it thrumming within his blade by this point. It's not that he trusts it, but rather, that it had the potential to save him in dire circumstances. And, as always, his Master was still hunting him, making every situation potentially dire. He had never given thought to the idea that Hawke would offer to retract her boon, but she was. An effort to call a truce between them, clearly. In all honesty, he actually appreciated the effort, the fact that she cared in some small manner for his feelings. It was more than anyone had ever offered him, let alone a mage, and it helped to create more respect for her. But, as of now she wanted to know why he would not allow her, wanted to understand. And he did not want to tell her, to voice such a contradicting opinion than before.

His own antics drained at his patience, his pride getting the better of him making him irritable. He wanted her to stop looking to him for the answers he was unwilling to give. With a flustered sigh, he couldn't help but think she should still be confined to bed rest anyway. It had hardly been a few days since Anders had dragged her from the Darktown mines to his clinic, her body weak and her awareness lost. Fenris had suffered injuries of lesser severity and taken longer to get to his feet. She was a mage, physically more delicate than he was, more susceptible. Then again, she was a *mage*, a proven healer at that. Unnatural recovery was just one of the many inhuman feats she could perform. So, he came to suppose there was no scar left to tell of the fatal ordeal by this point.

She huffs out a breath that catches her bangs in its disturbance, "I apologize for that. But I can at least take it back."

"Leave it be," is all he can manage in reply.

He can think of no better argument to stem the determination of her offer. He marches on ahead, passing Aveline as they stalk across the sands of the coast, avoiding further discussion on the topic. He tries to ignore the sensation of Hawke's eyes as they follow his back, turning his gaze from the sun that beats down upon them, blinding his eyes with its glare. He keeps an ear for raiders, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Any moment now they should be pounced upon as Aveline has forewarned. If there was one thing he knew about Kirkwall, it was that the city was teaming with thugs. Thus he doubted Aveline's notions were misguided. It was only a matter of time. And he intended to be ready to wipe their existence from the face of Thedas and be done with it.

In his furious march made to escape his inconsistencies and the sting of the sun's light to his eyes, he did not see the bear trap awaiting to greet him. It was the snap of its snare around his leg that signaled the charge of the bandits. But his frantic cries of agony and surprise are all he heard as it gripped ever tighter. Painfully biting through his flesh and fracturing the bones beneath. Aveline hurtled herself forward into the fray, shield before her to hold off the assault while Marianna tended to him. Slipping the end of her staff between the teeth in the space created by his unfortunate limb, Hawke put the entirety of her strength into prying it open, freeing him from its terrible grasp. He tumbled to the sand, jaw clenched and eyes screwed shut as he tried to silence his screaming. No sooner had he hit the ground when the misery simply vanished, his hearing engulfed in whispers. Within seconds he found himself standing again, both legs strong and steady, as he fended off daggers poised for his neck.

All torment caused by the contraption of steel was forgotten, cast aside by the need to fight for survival. Something they did quite often. In the chaos of their struggles, Fenris's eyes darted a peek Marianna's way. She stood tall, expression pleased with herself, stature triumphant as she called fire to rain from the sky. She openly took pleasure in mending the fallen, easing the suffering caused by their ailments. The power to imbue life into a dying vessel elated her feelings to thrill each time it took and the person could rise again in all their glory. Free from the oppression of hurt and blood loss. It became her favorite magic years ago, and she relished it's soothing touch with vigor. *This* is what made her worth the trouble of her existence, so she had convinced herself. He returned his full focus to the battle, set on keeping from previous yet familiar mistakes.

Though well armed for thugs, the meager amount of men placed for the ambush were insufficient for the task of cutting their prey down. There were no spoils to delight in for the offenders as they all fell to their deaths over their lack of numbers. They way was left clear, sand sifting over the corpses, stirred up by the fighting. With the current breeze sailing across the coast, brushing the earth with wings of whimsy, they'd be covered within the hour. Aveline rubbed beads of sweat from her brow with her scarf, tying it securely back in place when finished.

"Well equipped for bandits." She mused, suspicious. "But dead is dead, and the way *is* clear. Let us head back to the barracks. You can collect your reward."

She offers an appreciative smile, smoothing loose strands of vibrant hair from her face. Wincing against the merciless beams searing their sight, Marianna returned the gesture and offered a nod. The Guardswoman turned back, taking the lead and guiding them back towards Kirkwall's city gates.

Aveline vehemently seethed as she stomped her boots foward from the office door, joining Fenris and Marianna again. Her eyes spark rage beneath the cowl of her knitted brow. Fenris breifly gives consideration to the idea she may go on a rampage. If so, The Keep may not remain standing for long. He scoffs at Hawke's audacity to attempt to make light of the situation.

"Well, he certainly seemed grateful for the favor we gave him. Perhaps we'll polish his armor next."

"We killed a band of highwaymen. What does it matter who's patrol it was?" She fumed, giving voice to the pressure accumulated beneath her skin. "It's not the first time he's made me wonder like this. Something is very wrong."

Marianna shrugged and offered an empathetic look, "In that case, let's find out who's toes you actually stepped on."

"We'll need to check the duty roster to see who was supposed to be on that route." Aveline replied, stepping towards the wall on which it hung. "What have I stepped in this time?"

Her sigh let's loose some of the fury, relieving her of the sensation she is about to come undone at the seams. But the feud Jeven has started in his ignorance cannot be expelled.

"Threatening my friends. Not letting that one go, Captain." She mutters as she looks over the parchment.

But her eyes do not have time to decipher the answer she is looking for, as a fellow Guardswoman interrupts with praise.

"I owe you for clearing that ambush. Saved me a mess of trouble."

Her face is glowing with gratitude, piquing their interest.

"Brenan? That route was yours?" Aveline questioned, great concern washing forth onto her expression.

"It was! Single patrol. I would have been dead for sure." She manages to keep beaming joyfully, despite this disturbing fact.

Fenris arches an eyebrow, and Marianna exchanges a look with him. Both are assuming the same thoughts. A trap set by a small group of bandits, well armed, but with too few members to sabotage a caravan. While no caravan matched with the route prepared for the ambush, but a single guard scheduled to make her rounds there happened to. What were the odds?

"So, there was nothing unusual about it at all?" Hawke sputtered, daft.

Brenan made it sound as though single patrols were common, routine. But that was hard to believe, the Free Marches were dangerous. No one could expect a single guard to enact their duty when threatened by hordes of scheming criminals.

"It had been clear for weeks," she explained with a sudden frown, "It didn't get unusual until we heard about you and Aveline."

She turns her attention to her rescuer.

"The Captain reassigned me when he heard about what you did. And I passed the satchel to Donnic for his patrol tonight."

The warning bells went from gentle ringing within their minds, to resounding tolls of alarm.

"The satchel?" Fenris repeated.

"Pay and order assignments. Captain has us run deliveries to the outposts during light duty. It's usually just an updated copy of the roster. The satchel for that night was heavy, though."

*There* was their potential answer, a possible motive. If the satchel in question held something of value to the bandits, whatever that object may be, it would be reason enough for the thugs to set up such a plot rather than chase typical victims.

"Anyway, thanks again Aveline. You're a good one."

Brenan wandered away, returning to her duty. Leaving them to ponder the information she'd given them.

"So the satchel gets heavy the same day we discover an ambush." Aveline speaks their thoughts aloud.

"So it seems," Fenris replies, "There is, undoubtedly, more to this."

"Another guard is walking into the same trap. I can't let that happen." Aveline does not care if the others are with her on this. "Brenan said Donnic. A good man."

Her irises scan the writing upon the roster, locking onto his name, "I've got his route. A night walk in Lowtown. Let's go make sure his quiet patrol stays that way."

Her offer is absolute. Come or do not come, there was no room for discussion. She will do what she feels she must, and it was best not to get in her way.

With a gentle stretch, Marianna gives her their answer, "There is some time yet before dark. Let's take rest at The Hanged Man. Then we will be nearby when his patrol begins."

Fenris had no need to speak for himself. He owed a debt, and he intended to settle it. So long as she did not turn into the very portrayal of all he despises in a mage, a spitting image of a Magister, she called the shots. She was going and hadn't told him not to follow, so the plan was clear. The trio made way for the tavern, a favorite spot for them to gather, a fact made evident by their frequent visits there. Of course, no one complained about it.


	8. Expositional

She twists the bands of metal into shape, creating petals to an ornate flower, as her heated hands make the filaments of metal pliable. Binding one formed rod to another by melting the material together. Metal work to jewelry crafting as no one had ever seen it before. The only use for her flames that she delighted in taking part of. The blazing metal casting brighter hues into her scarlet tattoos as the dim light reflected across her face. Varric, Aveline, and even Fenris were drawn to watch, the game between the dwarf and the elf briefly paused to indulge in curiousity.

"I never imagined magic could be used like that." Aveline stated, breaking the quiet melody Hawke had been humming as she worked.

"Yes, well, there's something to be said for finding a delicate and constructive way to use it. *This* requires great self control and concentration. Imperative skills to have as a mage."

"I see."

"Father encouraged us to find ways to create with our magic. He claimed it was important for learning what having our 'magic serve the best in us' truly means."

"I can't argue with that logic. Although, I have to admit, having fireballs to keep enemies off your back is quite useful when you're fighting for your life." Aveline takes note.

"I've been meaning to ask," Varric begins, "What is with the tattoos? You're not the sort I would imagine to have interest in body markings. It just seems... Out of place."

He looks to his hand of cards, making his move against Fenris who is bluffing.

"It is tradition. There have been a great many spirit healers throughout our lineage. They would mark themselves with these patterns in blue as a show of honor. A code of conduct, if you will, and a reminder of what we stand for. My Father wore them, as I do now."

Varric shuffles his winnings closer, ignoring Broody's glare of determination to get them back.

"But yours are a soft scarlet. Aren't they supposed to be blue?"

She stops working the pendant she is making and sighs, "I chose to change the color after it was discovered I was an inferno. Father told me I had great pontential, that it was a very special gift. So, I took to scarlet to show both strengths, and remind me of the responsibility it brings."

"Fair enough." He replies, dropping the subject.

Although he could read it in her tone, unlike Fenris, he did not understand why the topic was sensitive. He didn't know the price her 'gift' had wrought on her family.

"The sun is setting. Donnic will be out on patrol soon." Aveline states, brandishing her weapon in anticipation.

Varric gathered up the deck, stashing it in one of his many pockets.

"Right then, time to chase conspiracy theories. This ought to be interesting."

"You say that as though you think this is a game," she scolds him, "A Guardsman is about to walk into an ambush that could get him killed. I would have thought you'd be taking this more seriously."

"Aveline, you could put a dragon to shame. I'm more worried for the bandits than I am Donnic." He retorts.

Marianna stifles a giggle, the light in her eyes caused by the mirth quickly passing. She clears her throat in hasty retraction as Aveline's stern glare locks onto her.

"I'm sure he'll be alright," she offers in attempt for remission, "We know what we are up against, and we are prepared. In contrast, our opponents probably don't even know that we are coming. We have the advantage."

"Not if we dawdle around here."

She states it bluntly, and turns to storm out into the streets, her allies at her heels. Varric exchanges a look with Hawke, his lips mouthing the word 'roar'. She keeps her responding snicker silent to the ears so as not to earn more reprisal. Fenris tried his best not to allow his mouth to quirk into a light smile himself, taken by the humor. He manages to hide it well, practiced in the art of stone cold expressions. Despite the jokes being passed behind Aveline's back, all three are quick to follow, keeping their weapons close at hand.

The same breeze from earlier that afternoon tugged at strands of their hair, as it passed like a ghost between the buildings. It's static quiet was all there was to hear, no commotion to greet their ears as of yet. Beyond Kirkwall, the last traces of sunset hues bled dry from the horizon and the stars began to show. Street to alleyway, they wound through Lowtown unopposed, and wondering if they'd missed the ambush entirely. It set Aveline frantic, she nearly dashed down the dusty paths between foundries and homes, ever searching for her comrade. Until, at last, a disturbance on the air caught hold of their hearing, calling them like a beacon to the tussle of thug against Guardsman. It did nothing to ease the nerves, a sharp cry pierced the night and only boots could be heard after.

They tracked the sound to a nearby alley, another dead end in the 'poor man's keep'. Blood raced across the dirt, the body of the man down, but gasping intakes of air assured them he was alive. Marianna wanted to reach out her magic and help him, but the way was narrow and bandits were running headlong at them. She would need to be rid of them first. In the urgency, she forgot to be afraid, letting loose her passionate soul into fiery defiance. She met their mad dash with a racing blaze that engulfed them, careful not to allow her flames to lick the houses on either side. Fenris and Aveline cut the burning thugs down, Varric aiming for hidden enemies that were now rushing at their backs.

Donnic was in worse condition every minute that passed, but, Hawke could not abandon Varric to keep the opposition off on his own. If they managed to get close enough, the dwarf would be nearly helpless. She trailed the wake of his bolts with ribbons of scarlet, the singe of each strand slowing their progression, holding them back. Freed from previous entanglements, both warriors in the team barreled past to finish them off. Giving Hawke the chance to drop her aura and tend to the wounded heap of a man writhing within the dust.

She focused her mind on that single point, opening the endless truths of the fade in its nexus of blue. It wrapped itself not only around Donnic, but every ally, healing even the smallest of cuts. Gouged in the lung by a dagger, his flesh sealed up, his broken rib mending back into place, allowing him to breathe full and proper. He stopped thrashing in the mud of his blood and dirt mixed and lay still, catching his wind with a sigh of relief. Marianna smiled, happy to seen the strain vanish from his features.

Aveline marched past her, snagging Donnic's arm in a firm grip and dragging him up to his feet.

"W- who?" He wheezed, "Aveline..."

He came to realize who it was holding him up with eyes of wonder and fascination. Having been on the brink of death, the whole world was suddenly right again, and the first face to greet him was one he recognised. A fellow in the guard, a friend.

"You're a beautiful sight."

A delicate pink brushed Aveline's cheeks, quite a sight to behold for the others.

"I mean," he quickly excuses himself, "I was on patrol and they came out of nowhere. I took a few down, but there were too many at once. The Captain said this route was supposed to be quiet."

Marianna circled round on the fallen satchel like a cat swerving to cut off escape from a mouse. Dropping into a crouch over it, she made the metaphorical pounce, delicately sifting through its contents with a steady finger. Leading some of the documents to slip from the lip of the pouch so they could be studied. An intricate wax seal branded in red met the eyes of the onlookers.

"Seal of the Viscount," Fenris states without surprise, "Office details, city accounts."

Hawke scoffs, "No doubt valuable to a guild of theives."

Letting go of Donnic, he nearly does not catch his own weight and barely manages to steady himself.

"A sacrificial delivery with one of our own..." Aveline raves. "Captain Jeven will answer. This goes to the office of the Viscount. This *will* be known."

"Well, our suspicions are confirmed. And now that we have evidence, I'd say proof, someone will have to listen to us." Marianna replies, rising from the dust, satchel and contents in hand.

Looming over her to get a better look at the seal, Fenris narrowly avoids being knocked by her elbow as she suddenly straightens. He steps back to give her appropriate space, looking to Varric as the dwarf joins him. He too, had been standing over her, watching. Albeit, from a safer angle.

Everyone turns their focus to Donnic who stands uneven, expression utterly disconcerted as he watches his rescuers uncover deep set corruption. None of them surprised to find it. He shakes his head, what was it he was missing here? How could they have suspected this? The proof was indeed there, and it wasn't that he did not believe. Already, he was beginning to feel the anger swelling inside him from the betrayal, but he could not see how anyone could have guessed. He pulled himself from his thoughts to meet the gazes of each companion, resting his at last on Aveline, then places a hand up in assurance.

"I'll make it back to the barracks. You should go on ahead and take care of this before it can happen to anyone else."

She gives him a determined nod and sets off for The Keep, her friends still close behind. Cutting through more alley ways, they came to the Lowtown market square, passing it without so much as a glance. Ascending the steps, they walk onto the bridge to Hightown. As their steps thunder beneath the hold of the night sky, their minds riled up by this answered riddle, they exchanged thoughts and feelings.

"Betrayal, lies, secrets... This man should be a politician." Fenris jests flatly.

Hawke chortles softly, eyeing him with intrigue.

"He's already well versed in how to conduct political business."

Varric scoffs loudly, "Yeah, but he has already broken the most important rule. Never get caught. Probably why he's in the guard. He just can't keep up with actual politicians."

"This is still *not* a joke!" Aveline hisses in warning.

"Try to relax," Marianna soothes, "We all know how serious this is, and we aren't going to let him get away."

As much as she loves to tease, she never intends to aggravate people's feelings.

"The Guard Captain likes his thieves so much, let's see if they welcome him in prison." Aveline mutters.

They pass by mansions now, the difference vast and bold, separated only be that stretch of bridge.

"Speaking of jokes," Varric smirks, "You told another one, Broody. Bless my knickers, you must be starting to like us."

"Don't get used to it." Fenris gruffs.

Hawke sighs dramatically, "Now he'll be sure to never tell one again. What a shame."

"I beg your pardon," Varric feigns sorrow, "I should never have said anything."

Fenris shoots unamused glances at the both of them.

They climb the many rows of steps leading to The Keep's courtyard, wary of what was coming next. Even with compelling evidence, there was no guarantee action would be taken to stop Jeven. The reason for his betrayal was still a mystery yet to be solved. If he were doing it under the guidance of an actual politician, there could be a tricky network of barriers to navigate in order to get to him. Corruption was everywhere, a sickening growth of weeds that might start as their own plant, but tends to twine when met with another weed. There was no telling how far or deep this particular root of it was buried beneath it all. And no knowledge of what it would take to be rid of it. Of course, despite this, everyone knew that Aveline would chase this to its end, regardless of implications. She would never let this go.

Straight from the main doors they made way for the Senechal's office, holding their breaths that it would be such a simple ordeal. They were in luck. Brann took their claims, looked over the evidence, and took Jeven into custody. The satisfaction in Aveline's eyes would not fade for days after. Especially in light of being told she would be the one to take his place. Her friends offered congratulations before returning home to their beds for the night.

Fenris did not wait for anyone to wish him a fair evening, he merely stalked away towards his mansion, leaving Varric and Marianna behind. He did not bother to take notice of the concerned amber eyes that trailed after him, hoping he made it safely back. Fortune in his favor, he did, no squabbles along the way.

'Yet another wild turn of events we've gotten caught up in.' He thinks as he rests his sword to the wall, dropping into the bed he's claimed for himself.

To him, the future was always uncertain, every turn dangerous and what lay ahead always shadowed from view. But this was further madness to accompany the uncertain path he walked. Always there was something that gave each plot a twist, and no end to them as they kept coming one after the other. And, somehow, *she* always fell into them. Along with all of these *friends* of hers. They were interesting people to say the least. He had to wonder just how far *this*, all this, would go, how long he would have to follow along.


	9. In The Pit Of Your - Bones?

"Oh, don't look so glum, Fenris." Merril coos, "The sun is out and the birds are singing, and nothing bad has happened yet."

"Yet," he growls.

"It is a waste of time, Merril." Anders shoots over his shoulder, returning the glare it earns him from Fenris.

Carver sighs, speeding his pace so that he is walking shoulder to shoulder with his sister, trying to escape the coming antics.

"You had to bring the most disfunctional assortment of our little group..." he groans.

"Remember, that includes you." Marianna mutters back.

As he peers at her, unimpressed, the argument at their backs continues.

"I don't see why Hawke even brought you along. Being a healer herself, it's not as if we need you." Fenris scoffs.

"You know, I could say the same for you. We already have an ill tempered warrior with us. I don't see why we need another."

"Hey," Carver stills in his tracks, "I'm not ill tempered, I just don't see why I have to put up with all this."

"With all of what?" Merril questions him innocently.

"The fact he doesn't have a life, no doubt." Fenris remarks.

Red spreads like a flood across Carver's face.

"I've told you before, I *have* a life!"

"And it seems to be a very bitter life. For the both of you." Anders breaks in.

"You're one to talk, mage." Fenris deflects.

Patience wearing thin as the lot of them stand in place lashing on another, Hawke flips around and approaches, fists to her hips. Lips in repose, her stern gaze silences their voices, stilling the next onslaught of insults frozen upon the tips of their tongues. Sunlight dances in myriads over her skin, which shimmers it back into the air with its pale composure. Scarlet markings were only hinted in the overbearing gloss of sun and flesh, and her blond hair seemed now to be tassels of the golden light. From the corners of his eyes, Fenris can see Anders tracing her shape with his own. As before, when they first met, same with her first visit to his stolen refuge to converse with him, Fenris could not deny she was beautiful and nearly did the same. But, he reminded himself she was a mage, he wasn't much interested in courting her.

"Oh, don't mind me, I'm just waiting for you to be done sassing each other."

Her voice is strong, confident, scolding, and sounds exactly like that of a mother who sought to reprimand her children for misbehavior. A blush streaks over the cheeks of her male companions, while Merril simply frowns and apologizes, although innocent of the accusations.

"I don't want to hear anymore fighting, from any of you. Have I made myself clear?"

She moves her hands from her hips, crossing her arms as though it would make the warning more compelling. What did she think she could do to stop them? Send them home, sit them in a corner, berate them until they went deaf? Despite the power lacking in her veiled threat, the air she exudes succeeds in culling their eagerness for making passes at each other. Even Carver neglects to back talk her ultimatum. Yet he still manages some defiant faces at her, aggravated by her assumed authority as his older sister. Much like a little boy, stubborn and headstrong even now. She only stares back at him, amusement leaking into the light of her eyes. With a smug twirl on her heel, she saunters down the path again, leading them onward towards the Bone Pit. They follow quietly, but still glowering.

Feelings of superiority and vehemence alike get swallowed down into their stomachs as they pass through the tattered gates to the grounds of the mine. Everything was scorched and burning, a few tangled corpses littered the ground, picked clean by scavengers and left as singed skeletons, not yet bleached to purity. Merril chokes on the smell of ashes prompting a concerned look from Carver. She offers a smile, absent of joy, assuring him she's alright. Meanwhile, Anders sifts through coals and dust to find clues as to what had befallen this place. But, Fenris, he could only stand his ground, a prickling shiver creeping down his spine. Everything around him felt off, somehow twisted in the fabric of reality, and his ears echo the superstition of a curse. As far as he was concerned, the rumors were utterly true, this place was dangerous and marred by eternal misfortune. His eyes dart to Marianna, wondering if she could sense it as well, being supernatural herself. To his bewilderment, she appeared to be playing in one of the fires. Hands reaching into the flames, shaping and directing the blaze.

Carver steps up to her side, Merril behind him, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you did this."

He says it carefully, trying not to stir up her temper. The eyes of their company shift to her. Fenris glares, considering the possibility. Merril's eyes beg the thought not to be true, refusing to believe Hawke would do this. And, Anders sought to defend her, knowing Hawke was not the sort to cause so much destruction. He does not get the chance.

She starts, "I would never-"

"I know," Carver interjects, "I'm saying this looks to be the work of an inferno. Besides, I'm well aware you couldn't have. Youve been dragging me along with you for the past four days. I think I would know if you had tried to burn an entire mine to the ground."

Her eyes drop to the grass beneath her feet, and she retracts her hands from the fire.

"The blaze does hold a strong presence of magic, but nothing like I have felt before. It is wild, untamed. I find I can shape it, but it gives me some fight. Nothing I cannot overpower, but it is a new experience for me. Then again, I've never met another inferno. It is possible this is the doing of someone like myself, but I can't say for sure."

Fenris relinquishes the weight of his stare, hoping this would serve as a reminder to all of them that magic was serious business and should not be disregarded or taken lightly. Meanwhile, both Merril and Anders relaxed, happy to hear proof, and acknowledgement, of her lack of involvement. Still, the idea they might be facing another of her kind was a daunting prospect.

Marianna skulks over to a shaft entrance, peering inside while the others continue to investigate the camp. Light filters through gaping holes in the roof, leaving swaths of sky hemmed into its make. Softly eminating off the earthen walls are sounds of shuffling from deeper within, drawing her to slip inside. Someone could be hurt, need aid, but she drew forth with caution. The source of the disturbance could be far more than someone injured and dying, if there were any survivors hiding within these caverns at all. She eased her way along, brushing her feet as soundlessly across the ground as she could manage.

Carver turns from rummaging through charred crates in exasperation, "Sister, I doubt we will find anything useful out here. Maybe we should- Sister?"

She is nowhere in sight, he comes to realize, and a panic settles within his gut. As distant as they were from the other, as he was from the remnants of his family, it did not erase their past or kill the love buried deep inside, just smothered it with opposing desires. He needed to find her, for Mother's sake, if not for himself.

"Marianna!" He calls, erecting from his crouch with such determination, he nearly throws himself to the dirt with the force of it.

His cry alerts the others, calling them to the hunt with a single sound. Eyes track to all the places his have looked, coming to the same end. All eyes fall onto the mine entrance just mere paces away, trying to discern what those tunnels held within at a glance.

"Foolish mage!" Fenris spits, reaching for his sword and marching in without making certain the others follow.

Carver nearly dashes past him, his pace desperate in his search. Anders is tight on the elf's heel, already conjuring ice to his command, prepared to undertake the risks. And Merril tries her best to keep up, hoping Hawke will be okay, and keeping to optimism. 'She is a very capable mage, certainly she will be alright, they'll find her in no time,' she thinks to herself. Merril is right, they come upon Hawke's back rather quickly, startling her into a jolt. She swivels around, face tight with irritation and a blush coloring her cheeks. Her finger automatically presses to her lips, attempting to keep their presence hidden from whatever awaits them just around the bend. The sound that has beckoned her this far, so very close. But, Carver would have none of it.

"What do you think you're doing, wandering off like that?" He demands. "If something happens to you, Mother will never forgive me. I'd never here the end of her displeasure."

His concern turns to anger, nearly as potent in its display as her own temper.

"Come off it," Marianna hisses, "I can look after myself. I'm not helpless. Now be quiet!"

Sheathing his sword, Fenris scoffs, "He has a point. You're just one person, Hawke. One who doesn't wear armor and relies on distance between you and your opponents to keep you safe."

Anders counters his argument, "Need I remind you who it was that saved you from the mines and slavers of Darktown?"

"Need I remind the both of you of the wound Hawke received from a blade?" He grunts back.

Merril sighs with a frown.

"That's right, sister," Carver hastily agrees with Fenris, "for all your capability, you're not invincible. If you keep running about with such remiss, your going to get yourself killed."

He nearly growls at her when he sees she isn't listening, her focus set behind them, in the depths of the mine.

"I told you to be quiet," she groans, the sounds she had followed rushing to greet them.

Her companions finally took notice of their lingering presence, bracing for battle that was swift to descend upon them, homing in on the commotion they'd made. Exotic lizards of a size they'd never seen before, all clawing with eager eyes at the band of misfits, craving bloodshed. They scuttled forward, surprisingly lithe in their approach, surrounding them with intimidating force. Numerous and raving in their assault.

Fire swells around them, ever constant like the sea's tide, creating a wall between them and their foes. A barrier that is easily breached and forgotten by the onslaught, the flames do little harm to them. Marianna's infernal magic ebbs away, not of much use here. Her blaze gives way to ice, as Anders presents the beasts with a different barricade. His cold alternative slows their advances, proving much more effective. Fenris and Carver set to work on cutting them down, and Merril let's their blood run to a new master, shaping it into hurricanes that flurry around their former prisons. The blood magic bites into their scales breaking apart blood vessels beneath and draining them, adding to the pressure amassed in the tangent of red. Having failed in deterring them in the first place, Hawke takes to flickering lightening across those who manage to gain speed, meeting their rush with rods of blue and violet.

Lacking strength and durability on their own, it soon became apparent their most formidable tactic was to swarm their victims. So long as the defending surges of ice could keep some at bay, keep them apart, they fell relatively easy. A cut to the neck, a fit of lightening, a tempest of ice spikes, even a vortex of blood. All proved lethal to the seething brood of reptiles, leaving Hawke and her followers to puzzle their origins over their corpses.

"What are these..." Carver struggles to find an appropriate description, "things!"

His eyes are wide, the whites flashing wildly as he prances his gaze from one green carcass to another.

"Large green lizards with resistance to fire..." Anders begins.

"*Could* they be dragons?" Marianna concludes incredulously.

"Dragons are supposedly extinct," Fenris remarks, stooping to brush his clawed fingers against the side of the nearest fallen creature.

"Aren't dragons supposed to be bigger? I mean, a LOT bigger... With wings. And aren't they supposed to be tough? Well, more so than this." Merril asks Marianna.

"That's what I've heard, but... what if they aren't just dragons?" She answers, speculating further as she does so.

"I don't like where this is going."

Carver frowns at her, nearly begging his sister to leave it unsaid.

"Dragonlings," Anders finishes for her, much to Carver's dismay, "Newly hatched offspring, not yet capable of the terror their parents can cause."

"If these are hatchlings, the mother must be nearby." Fenris states, loathing the what the idea implies.

Hawke will not bother to leave well enough alone what is set before them, he knows this much about her. As much as he did not relish the thought of facing a dragon, he also deemed it necessary. The beast could lay waste to Kirkwall, to the Free Marches. Whatever time fleeing might buy them, it would not last long, and they were just as likely to die when these hatchlings grew older and took to feeding upon the city, as they were facing their mother head on in the present.

"That's not good." Merril squeeks, looking a bit pale.

"We're not even certain these are dragons," Marianna assures her, "Let's just continue through these shafts, and see what else we find. For all we know, this could be something else entirely."

"Like what?" Carver huffs under his breath, but no one actually rejects the idea.

They continue further into the depths, on alert and certain they already knew what lay ahead.


	10. In A Dragon's Keep

"I ran like my ass was on fire, it probably was!" Exclaimed the survivor. "Only, I went the wrong way. I ended up trapped here."

His eyes were beady dots of color swimming in white, his gaze pleading for protection.

Marianna raises a hand, a gesture for him to calm himself and keep talking.

"Did anyone else manage to escape."

He turns running a hand through his hair, red like summer strawberries.

"Some of my fellows ran for the surface. I hope they made it."

There had been only a handful of corpses that littered the ground between the camp and this tunnel. Surely, some must have. Hawke hoped as much as this shaken man that fortune was in favor of them, that not everyone had perished. She replaced her expression of melancholy with an assuring smile, which did not quite convince the stranger. But, it did comfort him some, and the tension in his muscles slacked a little.

"I've cleared the tunnels, you should get out of here." She tells him as she steps aside.

"Don't have to tell be twice," he replies with a bitter grin, "You should leave too. But don't go that way," he points, "There's this huge dragon!"

With that, he takes off for the surface at a run, still as terrified as ever. Anders and Carver step up beside her, looking down the way he had pointed, just as she was. A short stretch of mine leading to light at the end. Another exit to the shafts.

"Ah," Anders remarks, "I'd wondered if the dragons had left their nest unguarded."

"We could never be *that* lucky." Carver groans.

"Indeed," Fenris gives a nod of agreement behind them.

"Well, we can't just leave it." Marianna frowns.

Carver mutters a curse under his breath, less than enthusiastic about facing an angry beast with jaws full of teeth as long as he was tall. If the old stories were true, that is.

"Why not?" Merril whimpers, "It's probably cranky."

"You're not at all worried it could decide to conquer Sundermout?" Anders inquires of her.

Merril pales further at the thought, point taken. With an end put to debate, they made way towards the end of the tunnel, following Hawke. Their exit was in shambles, broken beams singed black and rubble, it was nearing collapse. Marianna presses through, wary of falling stones from the unstable cavern roof above her head, the others straight behind. Eyes adjusting to the bright daylight, they did not get the time to survey their surroundings before their foe appeared. Swooping through the sky, it landed upon the cliff the shaft had opened up to with a hefty drop and spat fire at them. Her companions shrank back from the flames, leaving Marianna to take the brunt of it. The attack only served to ignite the furnace hidden beneath her skin for her, revealing her true nature. Hawke shaped the blaze and threw it back at the dragon, to the same end. Neither would be destroyed by the fury of fire.

"I guess that means I'm better suited as a distraction." She snorted.

"Just because you're immune to its breath," Carver shouted as he drew forth his sword, "doesn't mean you're not susceptible to its teeth and claws. Don't be stupid."

He stepped up, landing a swing to its front leg, Fenris already ahead of him. Slicing his own weapon across its side and belly, ribbons of flame trickled from the metal's edge to lick at its scales, despite how frivolous it was. The hide was incredibly thick and hard to cut through. Quick as a cat, the beast wasted no time in tossing them back, kicking Carver away and knocking Fenris down with a lash of its tail. Rearing up its head, it's focus turned to the latter, preparing to melt flesh from the elf's bones.

"No you don't!" Marianna called, swiping a rock at her feet and flinging it into the creature's eye.

"Sister!"

Carver very nearly screamed at her, astounded by her utter disregard for his warning. She should fall back and throw spells at it like any normal mage, while he and Fenris dealt with keeping it preoccupied. Instead, she danced just out of its reach, prompting it to breathe yet more fire at *her*.

Anders took the chance to send rivers of ice spikes gliding towards the beast, while Fenris recovered from the strike which had grounded him. His head was spinning, his ears ringing and his back throbbing from the force with which he had met the dirt. He searched for his sword upon reaching his feet, dashing for it when he caught sight of the blade resting a few paces away. Driven ever faster by the enraged howling of the dragon as it gave voice to the pain of the cold biting into its skin when the ice took hold. Getting a firm grip on the hilt, he barely had time to lift it in defense before the monster lunged at him, predatory focus having locked on him in his rush, it sought to punish Fenris for its suffering.

Another stone streaked through the air, crashing into its wing, but was vastly ignored as the dragon bore is teeth down upon him. The keen edge of Fenris's greatsword shredded the soft flesh at the roof of its mouth, its flailing tongue nicking against the blade where it made contact. It was this sharp weapon in his hands which saved him from being torn apart in thrashing jaws. Still, the beast would not relent. Throwing Carver aside with its tail as the boy rushed it and hacked at its heel, it rose from the ground with powerful beats of its wings, coming to hover over the elf, intending to drop and crush him beneath it's weight.

Merril traced lightning bolts across its shape, Hawke and Anders joining her in the shocking assault. She had previously tried to put it to sleep, or at least slow it with drowsiness, but the spell had offered no effect. Now, she laced it with blue ribbons hoping to stun the beast, grateful for the support of the other two. The combined effort threw off the balance of its strong wings, and it came colliding into the earth, just missing Fenris as he dodged its fall. Rising up from the dust with difficulty, the dragon turned its yellow eyes on the mages, dragging itself towards them with vehemence. Jaw parted in a sinister hiss, its face snaked forward to snag the nearest contender in its fangs. Which happened to be poor Merril who was shying away against Marianna, stilled by terror.

Anders darted between them, defending both women from its terrible fury with more ice, but paying a steep price for his rescue. The monster seized him up, screaming all the while as ice washed over it, jerking him side to side. Merril gasped in horror, pressing even closer to Hawke, as Fenris charged, Carver limping close behind. Expression tight in deep set rage and determination, Marianna called forth the boulders behind them from the rubble of the mine shaft, packing them together into a massive fist. Putting as much energy behind it as she could spare, she thrust it into the dragon with the focus of her mind, shattering bones. It dropped Anders, reeling, wings broken and rib cage smashed. Insides seeping blood, Merril did not wait for it to rise again with its menacing anger, but worked her forbidden magic over the creature. Trailing cuts across her arms, her blood mixed with its blood, penetrating the dragon's body through its open wounds and wreaking havoc beneath its own flesh.

At the mercy of her magic, it could not keep either warrior from slashing at its neck and belly, now pathetic in its struggles. Meanwhile, Hawke focused what remained of her energy into a healing spell, unleashing it over every ally. Anders returned from the brink of death, Merril's self inflicted gashes faded away, Fenris was relieved of his pains, and Carver regained the full use of his leg. Regaining awareness, Anders encased it's limbs with sheets of ice, weary from his close call. Marianna traded her life giving aura for persistent thunderbolts, overwhelming the enemy further. Pausing mid swing, both warriors ducked beneath a final sweep from its tail as the creature succumbed at last to the overbearing onslaught. The dragon was slain.

Carver stalked over and jammed his blade through one of its eyes, slipping it deeper until the blood met the sword's guard for good measure. Sweat washing away the dirt at his face, he gave a satisfied nod as he pulled his weapon free, sheathing it afterward. Anders sank to the ground, happily taking the weight from his feet and laying back to bask in the sun as he rested. Just letting the peace of victory bathe his senses. Fenris replaced his sword in its hold at his back, panting from his struggles in battle, he carefully stepped around the huge corpse to join Hawke and the others. His gaze softened by relief, he was more than happy to revel in the fact they had all made it through, that he had survived. Merril was nearly leaping up and down.

"I killed it! Hawke I killed a dragon! Oh, it was the scariest fight of my life, but I made it so, I suppose it's not all bad. No one will ever believe I saw a dragon and didn't get eaten. They'll say I'm making it up. But we know better. You can vouch for me, set them straight."

She was just short of giddy at the whole prospect.

"Don't you mean *we* killed the dragon?" Carver complained.

Merril frowns apologetically, quieting her joy and looking to the ground beneath his shaming glare.

Fenris grunted, "We all had a part, some more so than others."

"What's that supposed to mean? I wasn't the one who misplaced my weapon at the beginning of it all!"

"True," the Tevinter scowled, "but I didn't spend the whole of it failing to keep up."

Jaw clenched, Carver breifly considered decking the elf.

"As I recall, I came to your aid while it eagerly tried to gobble you up."

"Some aid that was." He disregards the claim.

Marianna sighs, slightly surprised they still have the energy to argue.

"For the love of the Maker," Anders groans from from where he lays, "Can we just admit the mages in our group were the catalyst for our victory? *We* held off the most advances, weakened it, and it was *our* magic that did it under."

Both glared at him disapprovingly, too stubborn to admit he spoke true.

"Right," he echoes Hawke's sigh, closing his eyes again, "I thought as much. There will never be any gratitude for our efforts."

Both Carver and Fenris open their mouths to respond, but Marianna cuts them off.

"Shut it! All of you!" Her tone is serious, ringing with a warning more severe than her previous, motherly, one, "Any one of us could've been killed. Both Fenris and Anders nearly were! Stop fussing about the details of who bested who and be grateful we all made it out alive."

Patience at its end, she was liable to slap anyone who dared continue the argument. She puffs out another heavy breath, one that gives her bangs flight, as she tends to do. A quirk of hers. Everyone had put forth their best, including herself, and she was just as tired as anyone. Thus, she had little room for such tolerance of something so childish. There was no need to belittle one another.

"Now, let's just report back and get paid for this mess, shall we?"

She offers when no one takes up the challenge to further test her mood. Anders heaves himself up onto his feet again, taking to his staff like it is a walking stick. She turns and makes way back through the shafts, to the camp, to Kirkwall. Her companions follow suit.


	11. Eased Away

"This should be fairly simple," Hawke speaks to the dry heat of the sky as Fenris trails behind.

They step over the bridge into Lowtown, the silence between them heavy, awkward, persistent. Normally, Varric or another member of her affiliates would be present, offsetting his stern introversion towards the outside world. But, today, only the temperamental elf had been available to aid her in the jobs she'd taken for the afternoon. And he traces her every footstep in the same silence as her shadow, the demeanor of his dark skin and clothes mending with the shade her form casts at its seams. She had hoped to stir up conversation, or to at least soothe the tension between them. But, all attempts proved futile.

She let's the air within her lungs slip free into the breeze wafting by with an unhindered hiss. A sigh of exasperation. And allows her focus to fade from his indifference and drift to the pleasant sensation of summer sunlight dancing across her skin. It's heat an energizing embrace called from the Heavens. The gracious mood it brings her prompts her to forget the discomfort felt under his critical gaze, and swim in the peace of a fairweather day. She grants herself this escape as she weaves through the dusty streets, eyes searching for a select portion of her countrymen. Or rather, the surviving miners from the Bone Pit.

She comes upon them in the very place she suspected they would be. Just outside the tavern, dunk and down on their luck as they clumsily mumble to one another about better times. In their glum and rather pathetic attempts at humor as they sat idly in the dirt, one of the survivors caught sight of her, recognizing her instantly as the one who had rescued him. He stood, greeting her with newfound excitement and announcing her significance, loudly, to the others. He then proceeds to turn his eyes sternly to his nearest companion and scold him for the line of his focus.

"Earl! Eyes on her face, you lush!"

Fenris offers up a scoff at her back.

"A thousand thanks for saving Jansen's worthless hide," squalls Earl, eyes beginning to wander again.

In his drunken stupor, Jansen made his best attempt at defense for being called worthless. But, Earl only answers back with foul humor, the punchline less than amusing. Marianna shakes her head, cursing her luck in having to suffer their perversions. She is certain Fenris is doing the same, even in his silence. After a few laughs at Earl's jest, Jansen addresses the reason for her presence at last, asking why she has come.

"I am here to give you back your jobs. The mines are clear, it is safe for you to go back," Hawke informs them with a tone that implies a patience she is not sure she feels. If, that is, more of their 'charm' is what it will get her.

But her offer of employment is met with unsurity, even fear. Jansen objects with suggestions that more may come, or worse. His words disquiet the others, and they all look to one another in hesitation. No one wants to face the chance of reliving what they had been made to struggle through before. Tucking the left edge of her hair tightly behind her ear, Marianna tries to assure them with a promise she fully intends to keep.

"Half of the Bone Pit is mine now. I will do my best to ensure it stays safe and secure."

They can hear the sincerity in her voice, and do not question her offer further. Thanking her instead and turning to go and take up their places at the mine. With that done, there is little left to do than to inform Hubert of their cooperation. But, not just yet.

Since early that morning, she and Fenris had been dragging themselves along, completing one menial task after another. Now late in the afternoon, her belly complains of emptiness and her feet beg for a short break from her running about. She hadn't slept well the night before, or had the fortune of affording breakfast it's due respect. Now was as good a time as any to grab some bread and cheese and settle down for a quaint meal. She very much supposes Fenris will appreciate something fresh to eat as much as she will.

Taking to the flurry of activity at the market stalls, she trades a few coppers for the bread and cheddar, and a few extra for two bottles of half decent wine. Then leads her ghost of a companion to a quiet stretch of the docks to devour their late lunch. Fenris looks quizzically to her throughout all this, but says nothing until she drops herself down at the end of a gritty dock and dips her feet beneath the murky surface of the bay under her. Even then, however, his words are little more than an inquiry if this means he should return home. He inherently assumes she does not intend to share. An undeniable mark, a force of habit, that, like so many of his quirks, spoke boldly about his past. She wrinkles her nose in disgust at the thought of its cruelty, putting Fenris on edge.

"No. You should sit down and eat your share," She pats the spot beside her, her expression softening again.

He shifts his weight in hesitation, looking confused. Just like that, she was offering him a meal, acting as though he should have seen this coming all along.

"Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that you aren't the slightest bit hungry by now? We've been on the move since sunrise without a moment to rest or eat," she exclaims looking up to him.

Marianna did not understand that he was nervous. Although there had been a few kindly strangers that had offered him a handful of scraps or the occasional ragged blanket to keep him from freezing solid in his years of running, the blessing of such kindness was utterly rare. He is not used to being offered such things freely and, as ridiculous as the concept is, part of him wonders if it were truly alright for him to accept such a thing. Hawke did not give him much of a choice.

"If you're concerned that you'll owe me," she sighs when he sill does not join her, "don't worry about it. I honestly don't much care, it's just a few coppers. And, you can't expect to swing that sword of yours effectively if you neglect to feed yourself. So you might as well sit yourself down and eat. Because I mean it when I say we are not leaving until you've finished every crumb."

There she goes again, proclaiming her ultimatums in a bossy tone, head high like any mother trying to enforce discipline among her charges. He almost half smiles to himself, her antics a touch amusing. Her arms crossed, lips in bold repose and eyes bearing up at him as though, if she glares hard enough, he will be intimidated by her warning and do as he's told. As though she, a little mage with no significant amount of muscle, could actually make him do anything he did not want to do.

Marianna is not ordering him to do something, no. This is different. He could not describe how, but, he has been subjected to many orders throughout his entire life and these do not bear the same hard set finality to them. There is no cold disregard, no true threat to his well being should he disobey. And, even as she says them in that tone of assumed authority, he somehow knows there is no expectations for him to actually follow her command. It is more of a confident request than a command at the least, and he half expects that the worst his refusal could bring is a few crocodile tears or a tantrum of moody displeasure at not getting her way. But, always, there is an underlying sensation when he ponders this. That it is all in good nature. After all, she only made a fuss like this when there was cause for concern regarding someone's welfare or when her companions made an upheaval of chaos with one another.

If nothing else, this he knows of her, learning it in their short time together. He has been a witness to this aspect of her many times, particularly with Carver. At first, it had bewildered him. But, now, it seemed more and more silly to him as it happened.

He crouches down finally, not quite resting his weight onto the dock, but taking the half of the loaf she breaks off for him. It has been nearly a month since she and Varric had last saved him from recapture. She had earned some deep respect then, which has been slow to show in their interactions. Some of his stiffness has fallen away to become more tender towards her. But, there were still days, like this one, where his darkness got the better of him and he felt very much like being left to himself. Alone, and feeling defensive, as though everyone was waiting to attack him when his back was turned. As though everyone were his enemy. He never means to come across as rude or displeased with her, she is merely more company than he's ever been used to having. She brings him with her frequently, and he has never socialized with any one but Danarius as much as he does with her in the present. By no fault of hers, sometimes he would simply tire of being around other people and sought refuge in solitude.

For now, however, he puts all thoughts of their interactions from his mind and focuses on the taste of his food. The sweet and suppleness of the freshly baked bread, the savory tang of the cheese sharp in age, and he notes how hungry he really is. He does not eat as often as most, maybe twice a day. He does not have much to feed himself with, and the coin she would split between them, despite his attempts to repay his debt, is split further for betting during the weekly tournament of Wicked Grace with Varric and Isabela. So, he has to limit himself on what he will make for a meal and how often he does so. But, he is used to working on less than average nourishment and sleep. So, he is not as uncomfortable as Hawke would assume if she knew.

Marianna pulls the corks from both wine bottles and hands him one to wash down his food with. He takes it appreciatively and gives it a swig. It is no where near the quality of the Agregio he drinks on occasion back at the mansion, but it is palatable.

"I tried to find Loathering's specialty. I thought, since there are so many fellow Fereldens here in Kirkwall, maybe some would have been brought here. It was a long shot, and I should have thought better of it. I suppose it isn't too much better than this stuff, just much more sweet than most wines. But, it was always a favorite of mine," she murmurs as he sets the beverage down.

"What was it called?" He asks softly in reply.

With his response, a warm sensation of comfort spreads through her core. She is happy to have the strain, that seems to have been following them all the day long, be lifted from between them.

"Goblin Juice, or at least, that is the local name. I don't actually know the proper name for it," she let's out a chuckle, "It's called as such, because all of the sugar in it tends to make the drunks giddy, like children. 'Like all the little goblins', as the old wives put it."

He raises a brow in intrigue and turns to look at her.

"Fereldens call their children 'little goblins'?" He asks incredulously.

She laughs again, "Only when they're misbehaving. 'Mischievous hooligans, like nasty little goblins'."

She mimics the complaints of an old croon with a pinched voice and he can't help but curl his mouth into a small smile. It is the most ridiculous imitation of an old woman he's ever heard.

"Your country has strange customs."

"Yes, well. Whenever you go off in Tevene, I can never tell if you are cursing, reciting poetry, or both. I wish I knew what you were saying so that I could tell which. I suppose that makes us even."

His nostrils flare wide in an exhale, a scoff, and she cuts another slice from the small cheddar wheel with her sigiled knife. A silence settles between them, not weighing down on them as before, but ushered by contentment and consideration. Fenris' gaze pours out over the water with him feeling, strangely, more comfortable while in the open than usual. Behind them, the bustle of a hundred people, maybe more, shifts and passes like the tide of the bay. Among that flurry could be anyone, enemies watching from afar, for all he knew. Yet, his over indulgence of worry that he's been toying with all day seems to get away from him. And, he let's it slip from his hold for the respite of feeling that he is not truly alone. If he is being stalked by an unknown pursuer as he devours the gifted meal, it will not be an easy feat to simply take him off guard and be off with him back to Tevinter. There is another pair of eyes that could catch sight of them, another pair of hands ready to take up a weapon on his behalf. He finally reprieves his legs of the weight they bolster up in his crouch, sitting and curling his legs into a crossed lap.

This is... Alright, it is okay...


End file.
